


In Which Cecil Gets Injured (And Carlos Brings Him Stuffed Animals)

by kandyblood



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Awkward Carlos, Carlos is a Dork, Carlos is a scientist, Cecil is Human, Cecil is a detective, Cecil is adorbs, Dorks in Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not much plot, Pining, Police AU, SCIENCE!, Serial Killers, This is a lot of Tags, and some angst, but not much don't worry, but there is injury, debates about doctor who, i made that up by the way, i'm not good at this, lots and lots of fluff, not really graphic depictions of violence, octopi, oh well, persistent is the fifth thing a scientist is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandyblood/pseuds/kandyblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Cecil Palmer loves his job working for NYPD. He also loves the new scientist working in Forensics, who is perfect in every way, but nobody can know about that.<br/>Alternately titled: Cecil And Carlos Fall In Love And Everyone Knows It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cecil Breaks Things And Carlos Forgives Him

Cecil trots through the halls of the office, cheerfully greeting everyone in his path and reflecting on the meaning of life and the authenticity of existence. Not out loud, of course. Last time he’d done that they’d sent him to a man who asked him a lot of very personal questions and wrote the answers down. That had not ended well for either of them; several cats and a copy of _Raising Arizona_ got involved, but that’s another story.

Right now, he’s waltzing down the halls of the office to deliver a paper bag to the Forensics department of the NYPD headquarters. Why is he carrying a paper bag, you may ask? Well, obviously it’s not an _empty_ paper bag. That wouldn’t make any sense. No, he’s carrying a paper bag with one of those plastic zippy-bags that they use for evidence inside. This bag is not empty, either, as there are several very important pieces of evidence to be analyzed in Forensics. Hence why he is heading that way now.

“Dana, we’ve got a murder!” He calls as he pushes the lab door open with his butt, peering down at his pocket watch and adjusting his glasses with the back of the hand holding the evidence. He turns around, grinning in an entirely inappropriate way considering the murder case he’s here for, and nearly drops his all-important paper bag.

The most perfect human being he’s ever laid eyes on is sitting in Dana’s usual spot, looking utterly magnificent in a white lab coat, a dull pencil held between his teeth as he studies the microscope slide before him intently.

He stands there like an idiot for one hundred and eighty-seven seconds (he counts) before he finally musters up the courage to speak. When he does, his voice is a squeak.

“He-” he pauses to clear his throat and quickly grab a gasp of air before continuing, sounding awestruck but significantly less like a fifteen-year-old. “Hello, uh, I have some evidence for the Peters murder case?”

The man glances up as if in surprise, his glasses slipping down his (perfect) nose and revealing brown eyes that defied description, with universes reflected in them. His voice, when he speaks, is like the caramel candies Cecil’s grandmother used to make him; warm, but a little too gooey, a bit rough, and with a hint of an oakey flavor. It took Cecil’s breath away.

“Thanks, just set them there. What do you guys need?”

“Uh. Ahem. A DNA test on the blood sample, and an analysis of the mud from some boot prints we found.”

“Alright, no problem. What’s your name, by the way? I was just transferred here from Arizona, so I don’t really know anyone. Dana’s arranging for more supplies, in case you were wondering, everyone’s been asking where she is.”

“I’m Cecil. Detective Cecil Palmer,” comes the only slightly breathless reply.

The scientist smiles, really more of an upwards twitch of his lips, and adjusts his glasses. “I’m Carlos. Scientist Carlos Garcia.”

“Pleased to meet you, Carlos.” Cecil smiles and heads over to the desk shakily, trying to weave through the rather excessive number of trays covered in petri dishes without breaking any. Unfortunately, shakiness and glass objects are never a good combination, and Cecil ends up almost knocking over an entire tray of weeks-old cultures that are essential to a high-profile case, and shattering a whole cart of unused dishes. He falls to the ground, flailing like a helpless jellyfish as the glass comes tumbling down after him. He doesn’t try to stand up after the dust settles, just lies there with a bright red face and multiple cuts.

“Ow,” Cecil says intelligently after a few heartbeats of that shocked silence that follows the destruction of material things that may or not belong to this universe.

He can hear Carlos’ muffled chuckle and the scrape of stool legs as a broad, strong arm reaches down to grab his hand.

“Need some help?”

He grasps the hand and pulls himself up easily, face still flaming. “Thank you, Carlos. I’m so sorry about all your petri dishes, they must have been so hard to organize, and there I went just shattering them all. I’m _so_ sorry,” Cecil babbles, quickly letting go of Carlos’ very warm hand to brush the glass shards from his purple suit vest and skinny jeans.

“No problem, friend. We needed to replace those anyway, that’s why Dana’s getting new supplies. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, just a few cuts.”

“Do you want disinfectant for those?”

Cecil looks up at him, a severe look on his thin face. “Carlos, you should know better. Disinfectants are positively _full_ of harmful fumes.”

Carlos’ face melted from confusion to a large, half-uncertain, half-amused grin as he considered Cecil.

“My apologies. But let’s get this cleaned up, alright? We’ll have hell to pay if Dana finds this mess.”

Cecil outwardly cringes. “Where are the brooms?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a birthday present for the Abster, who has been there for me so much these past couple of years. Thank you for helping me, my dear friend, and I hope this is okay. As promised, I waited until all of it was written to post it, and I apologize profusely for its abominable lateness.  
> ~kandyblood


	2. Carlos Learns About Cecil, And Cecil Is Mysterious

Carlos is surprised that Cecil continues to come visit him, but he supposes it is his job. Their routine goes something like this:

Cecil breezes in, usually with some mysterious, slightly creepy greeting, and puts his evidence bag on the table. He cheerfully tells Carlos what he needs analyzed, and then takes a seat on the patch of counter that Carlos makes sure is always open. Carlos is usually busy with something, but thankfully he’s always been pretty gifted at multitasking. Cecil is full of interesting things; tidbits about cases, quotes from TV shows, musings about the universe, and, very, very rarely, facts about Cecil himself.

Carlos looks forward to these moments; for some reason, he finds Cecil absolutely fascinating. For instance, he now knows that Cecil once wanted to be a radio host, loves his mother dearly, doesn’t know his father, has tons of tattoos, and went to school in Europe. In return, Cecil knows that he doesn’t know his father either, his mother is Colombian, he graduated from Harvard with honors, and he loves grapes.

The friendship is strong with them.               

Carlos hasn’t pointed it out to Cecil, who seems too innocent to notice, but the other detectives have definitely taken an interest in their sudden bond. He’s pretty sure there’s a pool going around, actually, though based upon what he doesn’t know. For now, he’s fine with ignoring it and worrying about Cecil. As a very platonic friend.

Worrying? Why is he worrying? Well, it’s mostly because Cecil’s been getting more and more dangerous assignments. For a while after the Peters murder, Cecil got the more generic ones; a small-time thief, a bit of vandalism, things like that. But then he started receiving things like domestic abuse cases, kidnappings, and even a few more murders. He just has to keep reminding himself that this is Cecil’s job and he signed up for this. After all, they wouldn’t let an untrained amateur investigate these cases. This leads to Carlos musing about how Cecil probably knows how to shoot a gun, and, well, he’s always had a thing for bad boys. Dana asks him multiple times that day if he’s okay, because he keeps squirming and turning red at odd moments.

But overall, Carlos is really happy with the situation. He gets to see Cecil often, which makes him feel a lot more at home with the new environment, and Dana actually has some great conversational skills. He’s making friends with other NYPD employees. Carlos’ mother is very proud of him, and tells him so in rapid Spanish whenever they speak on the phone.

Even better is the sheer amount of nerd culture that makes its home among police officers and attractive detectives. Turns out, Cecil watches Supernatural and Doctor Who, and they can while away hours analyzing the writing of the latest episodes or gushing about how amazing the actors are. This is how Carlos finds out that Cecil is not quite straight, actually.

They’re talking about the various pros and cons of the doctors over the years, and Cecil lets a sly smile creep across his lips.

“Tennant is not exactly hard on the eyes, Carlos. I’d say that allows points in his favor,” he says, narrowing his eyes and purring Carlos’ name.

The subject of this ~~amazing~~ ~~attractive~~ ~~very arousing~~ smooth rendition of his own name clears his throat and gazes intensely at the test tube he’s holding up. Which he totally did not almost just drop.

“Yeah, but neither is Smith,” he says, trying to sound like a person with a normal pulse whose palms are not sweating.

Cecil grins and nods. “True, but Tennant had better writing behind him. Moffat has no idea what he’s doing.”

“Well that’s not exactly fair, I mean he did some really great episodes,” Carlos murmurs, his heartbeat slowing a bit.

Cecil launches into a full-blown argument about what exactly is wrong with Moffat’s style, but Carlos lets it fade into pleasant background noise as he continues his scientific work. Honestly, sometimes it’s nice not to have to worry about keeping a conversation going.

Unfortunately for Carlos’ lovelorn self, he never does notice the smoldering looks that Cecil sends him over the desk. That’s the thing about scientists, though; they never look up from their work until it’s finished.

Persistent is the fifth thing a scientist is, after all.


	3. Cecil Gets Assigned A Dangerous Case And Carlos Worries

“Caaaarloooos!” Cecil calls as he skids into the Forensics department.

“I’m literally sitting right here, Cecil,” the scientist answers, glancing up from a results sheet with an amused smile.

Cecil is unfazed. “Guess what, guess what!”

“What, Cecil, you’ll have to tell me.”

“I got assigned to a _serial killer!_ ”

Carlos’ face falls into a mask of serious concern. “What? When? How many so far?”

“Just now! And only three, we’re hoping to catch him before any more people die,” Cecil says, his face falling into grim lines.

“Wow, Cee, that’s a pretty big deal. Are you sure you’ll be okay? Serial killers really don’t tend to have that much restraint, I mean you could get really hurt,” Carlos makes a valiant effort, but fails to keep the concern out of his voice.

Cecil just rolls his (gorgeous) eyes at him. “Of course, Carlos, I’m very qualified. I know how to do my job.”

“Sorry, I know you do, it’s just that-” He stops himself before his sentence can reach the point of no return. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just, uh, I would really hate it if you got hurt?”

Wow, Carlos, way to be a good friend. You should get an award or something.

Cecil’s face softens. “Oh _Carlos_ , it’s so sweet of you to worry, but I’ll be fine! This isn’t my first time at the vaguely metaphorical rodeo.”

“Yeah, I know, just be careful, alright?”

“I will be.”

*

It’s almost four full days before Cecil comes into Forensics again, which is unusually long for him, especially when he has a case.

“Carlos, we have a tissue sample and a fingerprint, can we get the results back by Saturday?”

“Sure, Cee. You alright? Any closer to finding them?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, we are! We’ve already pinpointed a pattern and a murder weapon, so tracking her from here should be easy enough. It’s a lot easier than it should be, actually. Everyone else thinks it’s just carelessness.” Cecil rolls his eyes. “Especially _Steve Carlsburg_. Ugh. But I think she wants to be caught, you know? Like she’s showing off or something.”

Carlos nods. “That’s fairly common among serial killers, as far as I can tell.”

“Very true, perfect Carlos,” Cecil says a bit dreamily. “I really wish I could stay and chat like normal, but I have to get back to the team. Intern Jerry is training today, and I volunteered to pop in and show him a few things before we work on our next lead. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, Cecil breezes out of the lab. Carlos smiles and shakes his head, turning back to preparing the tissue sample for testing. He’ll realize later that Cecil called him “perfect,” but think nothing of it. Cecil was full of weird things, what difference does one potentially-romantic thing make in the scheme of things?

*

Cecil is very, very excited. Which is to say, very nervous, because he’s _literally about to go face down a murderer._ And as much as he questions his own purpose and existence, his mortality has very suddenly come flying back in his face. One shot in the right place and Cecil will just cease to exist.

He sucks in a breath and pulls out his radio, thumbing the shiny spot on the side that’s been worn smooth from fidgeting.

“This is Palmer, I have eyes on the suspect, over.”

The crackling, radio-static voice of Officer Josie comes over the line. “This is Josie, we copy. Make sure she doesn’t hightail it, over.”

“You got it. Give me backup at the South and the East entrances, please. I’ve got North. Over.” Cecil flicks the volume dial to mute and sticks it on his belt before padding silently into the open warehouse door. He swiftly ducks behind some conveniently-placed crates and looks around them to the middle of the warehouse. A tall woman in plain jeans and a Nirvana t-shirt is standing over a man who’s tied to a chair, topless. She is playing with a knife in one hand and holding up a packet of paper in the other, a pen clutched casually between her teeth.

Cecil holds his breath, praising the masters above that she hasn’t noticed him and cursing his luck at her placement. In this position he can see that he doesn’t have a clear shot, even as he draws his handgun from the holster at his hip with steady fingers. She doesn’t turn around, but she also doesn’t move, and Cecil is getting pretty frustrated. Honestly, all he wants to do is take this lady down, and her lack of cooperation is making things very hard.

“Detective, please step out from the shadows and put its gun back where it belongs,” the woman says at last, a thick but unidentified accent coating her words. Cecil murmurs a quiet “Fuck,” and stands up, flicking the safety back on his gun and shoving it back in its holster. His hand hovers near it, ready to draw at any second.

“What is your name, officer? Your real name, if you please, and I will know if you are lying.”

Cecil glares at her. “Palmer.”

“Palmer,” she purrs, eyes still on her paper. “What a charming name. Tell me, Mr. Palmer, do you have anyone special in your life right now?”

The question catches him utterly off-guard. “That is really none of your business, ma’am,” he answers smoothly, his voice slipping into the smooth, low pitch he uses for official business and bedroom talk.

The smile she gives him as she looks up is sharp, small, and deadly. “My decision against throwing this knife into your heart really does depend on your answer, Mr. Palmer. I will not ask again so politely.”

Cecil’s brain is leaping at a speed he never would have thought possible as he considers his answer. On one hand, he has a 50% chance of not having a large piece of steel thrown into his heart if he answers, and on the other, he has absolutely nothing. He goes for option A.

“No,” he says slowly, drawing out the word into several questioning syllables.

“Then I have no qualms about killing you,” she says, her voice and face suddenly blank as she draws the knife back and flicks her wrist with deadly precision. In a haze of adrenaline and utter madness, Cecil has his gun out and with the safety off before she can say the fifth word of her sentence. The knife is tossed at the exact moment his single shot rings through the warehouse, and he doesn’t have enough time to dodge properly or even see if he hit anything. Pain splits his entire left side and his vision goes black.


	4. Carlos Gets Threatened And Cecil Has A Mini Panic Attack

Carlos is a lot of things, and a chronic worrier is definitely one of them. He’s pacing outside of Cecil’s hospital room, running his fingers constantly through his already-unruly curls. Thank god his shift was ending just as the report got in that Cecil was injured, because he may have lost his job if he rushed over to the hospital in the middle of his work. Honestly, right now, all he can do is wait and worry.

A nurse pokes his head out of the room, looking around at the assembled slap-dash of family, police detectives, interns, and Carlos who are awkwardly gathered around the small waiting area outside.

“He won’t be awake for some time, but he can take visitors now. One at a time, please.”

Cecil’s brother is obviously the first one to go in, and Carlos swears he hears a muttered prayer (or maybe it’s some Satanic ritual) half-chanted in a language not quite of this world. He doesn’t comment, but wary glances and raised eyebrows are exchanged all around. When Jeremy Palmer emerges, he looks pale and grim. No one is brave enough to test it, but they take it as their cue to go in and visit Cecil. Carlos ends up being shunted aside by six others before he can get in.

The sight that meets his eyes when he surveys Cecil’s form is not exactly optimal, but he’ll take what he can get. The normally enthusiastic face is slack and pale, blonde hair swept messily away from his face. His glasses are sitting on the tray beside him, looking oddly unharmed given the state of their owner. Carlos walks over and slowly runs his finger along the thick plastic rim, drawing comfort from the strange familiarity of Cecil’s impeccably clean eyewear. There’s an IV drip attached to Cecil’s left arm, but there’s no oxygen tank, which makes Carlos think it’s not as bad as it looks. His cold fingers reach out to circle Cecil’s thin, bony wrist as he takes his pulse. It’s gentle and a little weak, but it’s there, a steady beat of assured life against his skin.

Carlos exhales shakily, reminding himself to breathe, and an uncomfortable knot forms in his throat. He clears it before running his tongue over his chapped lips nervously.

“Hey Cee, it’s Carlos, that guy from Forensics? Yeah, ha, uh, I know you probably already know that, but you never know. Uh. I guess you can’t really hear me right now, but I just wanted you to know that I’ll be back to visit you soon, alright? Stay strong and, um, don’t die. So. Yeah.” He rocks awkwardly onto his toes, shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets (he must have forgotten to return it before he came over here) before leaning over and quickly pecking Cecil on the forehead.

“Uh, yeah, so, get better soon,” Carlos finishes clumsily before walking swiftly to the door and pulling it open, letting one of the interns in after him. All the officers and NYPD-affiliated individuals outside suddenly start shifting and looking in other directions innocently.

“Did I miss something?” Carlos asks suspiciously.

Dana smiles innocently and grabs his arm in a death grip as she forcefully leads him away. “Say, Carlos, how do you fancy some coffee? Black, right?”

Before he can even reply, he’s stumbling down the hall in Dana’s wake as she marches him to the coffee machine.

“Dana, what-”

She spins him around and presses him up against a wall, pointing an immaculately painted nail at his face and looking extremely dangerous for someone who’s about six inches shorter than him. “Ask the man out, Carlos Marco Garcia, or I swear to all the gods watching that I will force your faces together until lip-to-lip contact occurs.”

Carlos tries to back away from the finger in his face but ends up hitting the wall instead. “Dana-”

“This isn’t optional, you tiptoeing bag of boneless scientist.”

“Dana, really-”

“No, Carlos, listen to me, I am sick and fucking tired of watching you pine over each other, it interrupts my life and my work, I cannot even get a quiet moment because I keep getting requests from armed and dangerous police officers to tell me to take a fucking video of you two because everyone knows, and I know, and you know, and you know what?”

“Dana!” Carlos says sharply, cutting her off as she opens her mouth again. “I’m going to ask the man out, alright? I’ll talk to him when he wakes up.”

The murderous expression clears, and the tiny scientist smiles up at him sunnily. “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” she says fondly before flouncing over to the coffee machine.

Carlos lets out a silent sigh of relief and straightens his lab coat before accepting his cup of crappy instant coffee and pushing his glasses up his nose with two fingers.

*

Two days later, Cecil emerges from the soft black oblivion of unconsciousness to find that everything is quite a bit blurrier than he remembered it being. He panics for a moment before sitting up, squinting at his surroundings, and seeing the fuzzy outline of his glasses. He shoves them on his face and looks around at the blank white hospital room before gentle hands are pushing him back down onto the pillows.

“Cecil, you’re going to strain your shoulder, please lie down again,” says a familiar voice, fond amusement ringing through the words.

Carlos is smiling at him from the chair next to his bed, holding a paperback novel with a cartoonish dragon on the cover. Cecil looks beyond him to see multiple bouquets of flowers and several plush purple octopi. He squeaks a little at the realization that he is in basically nothing but a hospital gown and underwear, and the tattoos he keeps such care to hide around the office are standing out starkly against his pale skin.

“C-Carlos!” he rasps, voice crackling a little from misuse. “I, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I’m keeping you company, Cee. Thought you might want someone here when you woke up. It’s been two days,” Carlos says quietly, still smiling slightly.

“I-oh. Did they catch her? The hostage is alright, right?”

“Yes, Cecil, everyone’s fine, they caught her. You did shoot her in the knee, so I don’t think she would have gotten anywhere very fast.”

Cecil slumps back against the pillows and huffs a little. “I missed the fun part.”

Carlos laughs. “Maybe next time, _querido_ ,” He says, and leans over to press a gentle kiss to Cecil’s lips.

Cecil freezes and then yanks Carlos closer, feeling another laugh bubbling up from the scientist’s throat. He smiles back sweetly against Carlos’ lips, and something in his chest swells.

His only regret is that he had to take a knife to the shoulder before it happened, but he’s really not complaining.

Not by a long shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! This was my first WTNV piece, so please please please tell me how I did. Thanks!  
> ~kandyblood


End file.
